Page 4 of Claiming Sarah

My skin itches, rippling and threatening to peel off, sloughing to the dance floor I’m cutting a path through. Why would she come to a place like this? Tonight, I’d planned to take her, sitting in my parked truck across the street from her house, gloved hands drumming on the steering wheel while the gaudy pink front door glared at me accusingly, daring me to enter.

The plan changed when she bounced out of the door with that brown-skinned woman, arms linked and smiles fixed on both of their faces. They looked exuberant under the moonlight kissing their skin. And now I’ve lost my bird, black hair disappearing into the marked door.

“Go in. Take her.”

I don’t. My head bows, and I tilt my face into the fabric of my hood. I’d planned on her being unconscious when I cart her out of her home, forsaking a mask in favor of feeling cool night air brush my face. The wall I lean against undulates, rippling like disturbed water. Closing my eyes doesn’t shut out the voices or the music blasting in the overcrowded space, but it does shut out the visual hallucinations taunting my mind.

In the facilities where I spent most of my youth, I rarely suffered visual apparitions. No, my mind attacked itself with whispered voices, stoking the flames of paranoia until the staff had no choice but to strap me down, forcibly injecting a sedative and antipsychotic to calm me and the demons.

“My sister is waiting for me at the bar, so please release my arm,” a melodic voice floats to me beneath the layers of sounds overstimulating my senses. Sarah.

“Raven. Grab the raven.”

Abandoning my perch, I stalk toward the darkened hall leading to the bathroom my Sarah just exited. A man has his hand wrapped around her arm, fingernails denting her pale flesh.

“Kill him.”

On rare occasions, I agree with the voices. This time, we form an alliance. Red bleeding into my vision, I narrow my gaze on the leering corpse touching my bird.

She doesn’t know it yet, but Sarah ismine. And the first thing I’ll remove from her attacker is the offending hand still clutching her arm. His screams will sound beautiful, echoing off the walls of my childhood home. Maybe I’ll scream with him when I cover him in venomous snakes.

SARAH

The creep loitering outside of the women’s restroom doesn’t release his hold, a lecherous grin curling wet lips, tongue sliding across them while he literally salivates over me. I try jerking free again, but he holds firm, a dark chuckle slipping from his mouth. Fear trails down my spine, bringing flashing images of my college roommate’s violated body splayed across her twin mattress.

“Let her go,” a deep voice slithers down the hall, a hooded figure prowling toward us. I’d think I was saved, except the barely slurred words ring warning bells in my head. I’ve heard that speech pattern before. We’re trained to recognize speech patterns in nursing school and identify their causes. Whoever the fuck just joined the party brings up flashbacks of some of my unmedicated patients diagnosed with schizophrenia.

“Go fuck yourself, freak. Me and the lady just talkin’,” the creep says, tugging me against his body. I gape at him. The fucking audacity. Raising my leg, I stab down with my heel, smiling at the howl escaping his mouth, and pull myarm free. Stepping back, heart racing, I dart frantic eyes at the tall, imposing figure still approaching.

The bent-over freak snarls, tackling the hooded man to the dirty floor. Adrenaline surges, and I kick my heels off, snatching them up in my hand, poised to use them as a weapon. The taller guy laughs, hood slipping free, facial scars catching the light.

No one comes down the hall or intervenes as the scarred man brings his interlocked hands down on the back of his attacker, an “oomph” sound drifting into the air. He does it again and again before rolling over, raining punches down on the guy who’d gripped my arm, blood splashing from the battered face.

Running forward, my hands wrap around his left arm before his fist can connect with the guy’s face again. He turns wild blue eyes on me, panting breaths slipping from his full lips.

“That’s enough,” I tell him, pulling more gently on his raised arm. He nods, tremors traveling from his arm to my fingers. Slowly, his large body eases off the laid out guy. Taking a wary step back, I watch him merely stand above my would-be attacker, shoulders lifting and falling with rapid breaths.

“Thank you,” I whisper, bringing his gaze swinging toward me.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, stepping over the other guy to close the distance between us. Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around myself, fighting my own case of tremors.

A finger touches my cheek, sliding down to lift my chin until I’m left staring into pale blue eyes that could rival the snowcaps of Mount Everest. Dark lashes line the eyes peering down at me, weaving a spell that has me lifting to my toes and brushing my lips across his cheek.

Rough skin scrapes my lips. My nose slides across hischeek, stopping when we share the same air, his exhale transforming into my inhale.

“I should go,” he whispers. But he doesn’t, his large palm landing on my hip, pulling our bodies flush. My lips ghost over his, a strange compulsion gripping me. If not for his interference, would I have gotten away from that guy unscathed? Or become another statistic?

Closing my eyes, alcohol swimming in my veins, I seal my mouth over his, tongue swiping soft lips. They part, allowing me entry. He walks forward, his other hand gripping my nape. My back touches rough brick, tongue tangling with his. His groans shoot straight to my core, tightening my nipples.

What the fuck is he doing to me?

Our mouths separate, faces barely an inch apart. My eyes close, forehead landing against his. This isn’t me. I don’t make out with guys at bars, especially guys with questionable mental stability, who look young enough to be my son. God, he’s probably old enough to date Lauren if she could get over the scars. They’re eerily similar to the cartoonish ones lining the Joker’s face.

“My sister is waiting for me,” I tell him, retreating until my head touches the wall at my back. His eyes narrow slightly, bouncing around my head.

“You don’t look alike,” he says in a flat tone. My eyebrows shoot up, a kernel of fear sprouting.

“How do you know that?” I ask softly, shooting a glance down the hall.

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